


three strikes (and you're out)

by palmettto



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fem!Andreil, Fem!Andrew, Fem!Neil, I mean this is a raven fic, Mild Angst, Minor Violence, Raven!Andreil - Freeform, Raven!Andrew, Raven!Neil, Slight Violence, Sort Of, i hope this is enough, if u know of any other tags i need to add pls tell me i am sorry, this exploded im sorry, what do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmettto/pseuds/palmettto
Summary: She held her body and her racket like a weapon; the only way she knew how.





	three strikes (and you're out)

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i literally finished this at like 11 pm and its kind of mess but i love raven!neil aus and i love fem!andreil aus so i put them together and called it a day,,, ive been working on this for like. a few months now and it got out of hand. im srry. if theres anything i forgot 2 tag, feel free to hmu on here or on tumblr (@palmettto)!! comments n kudos r appreciated 2 babes!!
> 
> THANKS TO @queenofexy ON TUMBLR FOR HELPING ME WITH THIS BITCH OF A FIC  
> (ps this is my first ao3 fic and i barely know how to format but i TRIED MY BEST )

It took a while for anyone to allow Nathalia Wesninski to pick up an exy racket. She begged, she pleaded; she whined, she cried. She just wanted to play the sport. 

_No, no, no,_ had been her father’s answer. His voice had been pure steel, a threat just as great as the cleaver he always chose to brand. 

_Fine,_ had been her mother’s answer. She didn’t get to see the stubborn set of her mother’s lips as she spoke with Nathan, but she saw it enough when she glanced at herself in the mirror.

Mary Wesninski was the first one to make a deal on Nathalia’s behalf. 

Lola Malcolm taught her how to flirt, to cry, to handle a knife. Mary taught her how to walk on silent feet, how to fit the bare necessities into a duffel bag, and how to stitch wounds shut. Nathan taught her how to hide, how to present, how to pretend. Her midriff collected scars, but her pretty face gained use. 

Nathalia didn’t like those lessons, but she did like the ones the little league taught her. Thanks to her mother’s deal, in return for the lessons, she learned to play exy.

Despite her tiny stature, she took to her role as a backliner like Nathan took to weapons. Her life became a whirlwind of exy ball shaped bruises here and a myriad of knife wounds there. 

The exy court was the only place where her home in Baltimore didn't threaten to overwhelm her. She treated it as such, especially once she met Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day. They played just like they were expected to. They played like a little female backliner against two slightly older male strikers who were born for the game. 

The sons of exy, they called them. One and Two. Drawn on numbers marked the place beneath their eyes, and Nathalia wondered if she was hungry or if that starving feeling was from her yearning for her own number—her yearning to be more than just a pretty little girl with knives in her hand.

Now that she considers it, though, she thinks that the boys should trade numbers. It’s not that Riko was _bad,_ it’s just that Kevin was _better._

Nathalia kept her mouth shut, though. She may struggle to keep her attitude to herself, but she knew better than to let it show here of all places. So, she clacked rackets with Riko and Kevin. She gave them a genuine smile instead of the ghost of her father’s.

It didn’t matter if they didn’t see his smile on her own face; Nathan made it up to them that night up in the tower. The hunger she felt earlier turned to queasiness as the sound of begging and crying reached her ears. 

Nathalia put the lessons Mary gave her to good use that night, when she crept through the house without a sound. Her duffel bag strap digging into her shoulder was a foreign feeling, but it served to remind her of her lessons. Mary didn’t explain anything, and Nathalia didn’t look back.

She wondered if she’d still be allowed to play exy wherever they went, but elected to not ask questions.

* * *

Nathalia was allowed to play exy again three years later, but not because Mary let her. No, no. Mary was dead and Nathalia was there for the Moriyama’s taking.

She learned a lot of lessons, but she never learned how to grieve properly. She taught herself how to burn the memories into her brain. She would never forget the feeling of being trapped in the car by the seat belt. She would never forget the feeling of turning her blurry vision onto her dead, bleeding mother.

Her own wounds from the broken windows and the gunshot had stung, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of knowing the one person who cared--the one person who had truly loved her--was dead. 

This time, when she faced Riko, she did give him her father’s smile. She gave it to everyone around her. Kevin. Riko. Tetsuji. 

“You will kneel,” Tetsuji said to her. He said it like he was a force to be reckoned with. He said it like someone who was used to getting their way. Leaning on his cane with a blank face, speaking in a blank tone, she could see why people called him The Master. 

But Nathalia was raised with there being bigger monsters than those under the bed. The monsters back home were much more dangerous. They wielded worse weapons than a cane. They carried knives and hot iron and _cleavers._ She had more than enough scars to prove it. 

She remained standing. She stared at Tetsuji Moriyama with her father’s blue eyes and that disgusting smile of his painted on her own lips. That Hatford temper bubbled up in her, pushing the word out of her mouth. “No.”

She caught the sight of wide green eyes (Kevin), a smug smile (Riko), and the movement of a cane (Tetsuji) before what was happening registered with her. She finally passed out sometime after the tenth swing.

* * *

Life in the Nest wasn’t easy in any way, shape, or form. Nathalia stood by the fact that none of the ravens were quite as terrifying as her father. None of the new scars could cover the old ones. None of the new memories could smother the one of her mother’s dead body next to her in the driver’s side of the ruined car. 

She moved through life like molasses, dragging her bruised and scarred and tormented body on and off the court. She held her body and her racket like a weapon; the only way she knew how. 

She didn’t kneel to Tetsuji and she did not call Riko king. She imagined shoving the sharp end of one of the kitchen knives into Riko’s back and twisting. She imagined hitting Tetsuji in the knees with his own cane and forcing _him_ to kneel. Kevin… she didn’t know. 

Kevin wasn’t mean to her, persay, but he followed Riko like a lost puppy. A shadow. It was stupid since it was all too clear that _Kevin_ was the better player. She didn’t imagine harming him, she just considered turning that tattooed two on his cheek to a one and forcibly removing Riko’s. 

Nathalia might’ve been starved for her own number, but the three on her cheek was nothing to her but a burden now. A place on the ‘perfect court’ is what it symbolized. That, and that she was nothing more than an object to be owned by the Moriyamas. 

She didn’t much care for that shit. 

Nobody _owned_ her. She was her own person. A mix of pure Hatford stubbornness and Wesninski temper. Apparently, that didn’t stop the Moriyamas from disagreeing. A money transaction was all it took for Nathalia to be Riko’s bitch and the third member of the perfect court.

She isn’t even in college yet, but she joined them for every practice session on court. She dealt with the same sixteen hour days as them. She practiced with the same amount of wounds (if not more). 

It’s not fair, not in the slightest. But they’re the cards she’s been dealt, and at least she can still play exy.

* * *

She hasn’t seen the sky since the day her mom died. 

She runs around the court when she has spare time between practice, online classes, and Riko. She counts to ten in every language she knows and every language she’s started learning when she’s mad. She holds her own better than some of the other people on court. She defies Riko every chance she gets (despite Kevin’s warnings). 

She finds out that she has no way to stop the surge of envy every time someone leaves. She wants to go outside. She wants to see everything she’s been denied. 

She wants, she wants, she _wants._

She resents Jean Moreau (number 4, respectively) a little when he finally gets his turn to go outside. He shows her pictures and murmurs to her in French about what it’s like, but it’s not quite the same as seeing it again for herself. 

She hates herself for hating him for it, but at least she can safely say she hates Riko more. 

It’s easier to feel hate than to admit that it hurts. Her mom had taken her and ran with her to keep her from this life, to keep her from the sharp blades and the painful blows and the heavy way her burdens pushed her shoulders down. In the end, her mother paid for it in blood and Nathalia ended up in the place her mother never wanted her to be. 

It hurts, but it’s easier to be angry. Anger keeps her steady. Anger makes it easier to fight back and to deny Riko everything he wants to take from her. It allows her to keep from bending over and kissing his shoe. Anger allows her to push everything Riko does—everything Riko promises to do—to the back of her mind. He wants her to call him _king,_ but she would never. She will never.

No matter how many bruises and cuts she or Jean have to stitch and bandage, or how many times she finds herself _limping_ back onto the court, she won’t. She _can’t._

Jean calls her a fool in french. He tells her that she should stop and give in, that the pain would lessen if she did. He tells her this as he stitches her back together after another beating, after another lesson. She calls him a coward when she stitches his wounds. 

She makes it a point to make sure he feels it as she puts him back together. He gave in and Riko didn’t stop. Riko didn’t stop because they were 3 and 4, partners in everything. Her loss is his loss. His win is her win. Her punishments are his punishments. 

She hates that, too.

* * *

Nathalia was quick to discover that just because she refused to bend to Riko’s will, doesn’t mean others had the same spine. Kevin Day of all people—the 2 to Riko’s 1—bent constantly. He didn’t receive the same punishments as the rest of them did if he refused, but Nathalia wasn’t dense enough to believe he got off scott-free.

His punishments were of the psychological kind. Nathalia didn’t think that was an excuse, though. He could fight back. Hell knows Nathalia did. The issue lied in Kevin’s liquid spine; the very spine that managed to fit perfectly at Riko’s feet. 

It was a problem for Nathalia.

He constantly told her she needed to _stop fighting._ She needed to _give in._ He was like Jean, but so much worse. He thought, maybe, if she gave in, it’d make everything better. It’d make things _easier._ He thought her giving in meant Riko would stop treating her like a _toy._

She wasn’t convinced. 

Nathalia got along just fine with Kevin from time to time. They were cut from… similar cloths. They had the same drive and motivation. They both loved exy more than they loved themselves. They both lost someone they cared about (albeit under different circumstances).

The big, glaring difference was that Kevin wouldn’t and couldn’t fight for himself. He was stuck in Riko’s shadow, the perfect number two. He saw them as brothers rather than as the tormentor and the tormented. 

She did suppose he seemed more like a coward on the outside, but he certainly carried a sort of quiet insolence that was was as much a part of him as the two on his cheek. Whispered warnings in the corridors saved her from gaining a few scars she currently wasn’t adorned with.

Jean taught Kevin french, which was good. It made their arguments much better, especially when Riko caught the tail end of one and punished them for it. Apparently, he had a problem with them speaking a language he didn’t know, despite the fact he was always spitting vicious Japanese. 

Nathalia did suppose she was slowly picking the language up.

Their spats aside, Nathalia believed Kevin to be… alright. He was too brash, his personality clashed with hers greatly, and sometimes, he seemed to forget himself. He pushed her too hard on the court (not that she minded) and told her, sometimes, that she would have to work harder to make Court as a woman. 

She wasn’t saying he was lying, because she knew she’d have to work hard anyways. She was a female backliner. Her height (or lack of) was a problem, as was her small stature, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take down her marks. It just meant she had to work harder to do it, and Kevin knew that. 

She was just tired. Tired of bleeding all over the court floor and getting sweat in her reopening wounds all the time because neither of them could be bothered to stop, to call it quits. They both knew the punishment for quitting.

So he pushed, and she pushed back. No breaks, not even when she was seconds from pulling her stitches or struggling to stand on her feet.

* * *

Riko didn’t like being told no. That was another lesson learned. She learned it time and time again, through multiple teachers, each worse than the last. She never did seem to be able to retain the whole ‘giving in’ part of the lessons, though...

* * *

Andrea Minyard signed with the Ravens during Nathalia’s last year of online schooling. She had the scars to prove that Andrea had turned them down more than once. Nathalia supposed she should be glad that they’d managed to change then blonde’s mind, even if it did require some of Riko’s… “smooth talk” (bribery). 

Her hair was short and golden, and her eyes hazel. Everything about her screamed _dangerous._ It wasn’t the kind of dangerous that her father was, but it was closer to that of her mother. She was clearly strong and willing to fight, but you wouldn’t think she would act on her threats unless you looked closely. 

Nathalia didn’t exactly want to look closely, but, unfortunately for her, she didn’t exactly have a choice. She was the backliner to Andrea’s goalkeeper. 

Then again, after a week of practices, it became pretty clear that Andrea gave little to no fucks about exy or her position. Nathalia and Jean could only muck up so many shots, and Andrea didn’t even flinch as the ones they missed passed her by and lit up the goal. 

It did more than piss Nathalia (and Kevin) off. It pissed Riko off. The issue with Riko’s anger was that Andrea wasn’t an investment. She wasn’t something Riko or Tetsuji owned. She was just a freakishly good goalie who refused to guard her goal or put in effort.

That didn’t stop Riko from trying to harm Andrea. He spat out random words and phrases that made no sense to Nathalia (something about Spear?) and managed to get a dirty check in at one point (a blatant foul). 

Tetsuji— _”The Master”_ —could give Kevin the leash to Andrea’s collar, but he couldn’t put a leash on his nephew. Nathalia knew that no matter how much wreckage Riko left behind on court, it wasn’t enough to satiate his psychotic tendencies. She knew enough to be on edge. Who knew when Riko—or one of his lackeys—would come to take it out on her?

* * *

When they were dismissed, Andrea made a point to ignore Nathalia until after they were both stripped of gear. The silence was off-putting, as were most things pertaining to the five foot, black arm band clad menace of a woman. 

Andrea seemed as untrusting of Nathalia as Nathalia was of her and… well, most everyone else, really. Her gaze seemed to take everything in, from the three on her cheek, to the sneakers on her feet, to the barely-hidden bruises on her wrists (which received a dark look that Nathalia pointedly looked away from).

Nathalia didn’t know anything about Andrea, aside from the fact she seemed to hate exy (despite signing to play), she never took off her arm bands (she suspected there were knives or something in them), and she smelled like cigarettes. 

“You don’t look like a college kid.”

Of all the things Andrea could’ve said to Nathalia, she chose those words. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A fact. Nathalia couldn’t exactly deny it, since she wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t a college student. Not yet. She was the daughter of the butcher who happened to be trapped in the Nest. 

Nathalia shrugged and gathered a change of clothes and a towel. She couldn’t move towards the showers with Andrea in her way, but she’d be the first one there when she moved. “I’m not one,” she offered. Maybe the truth that she planned on giving anyways would get her to move. 

It didn’t. 

“Why are you here then?” 

Nathalia didn’t see Andrea as the pushy type, but here she was, pushing. She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. She couldn’t tell if Andrea didn’t know how things worked or if she just wanted to hear it from Nathalia’s own mouth. Either way, she shrugged again and tapped the 3 on her cheek. Surely she knew what _that_ meant. “Figure it out.”

Nathalia didn’t know what would happen if she took too long in the showers and didn’t intend to find out today. She skirted around Andrea like a cat. She wouldn’t be asking her own questions just yet, though she had quite a few. 

She knew Andrea turned Riko down once, but not twice. She knew she heard a little something about drugs and juvie, but she wasn’t sure how it was connected to the blonde. She wanted to ask about the lack of emotions. She wanted to ask about the lack of effort put into exy. 

She wanted to know if Riko would break her, and how long it would take. She seemed stronger than some of the others (stronger than Nathalia herself, maybe). Maybe if Andrea could hold up, Nathalia could have a little more hope for herself. A little more hope for Jean. A little more hope for Kevin.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

* * *

Andrea joined the night practices with Kevin and Nathalia, but she did _nothing._ She watched from the stands and fiddled with her bugged phone, actually. She didn’t play. She didn’t pretend to be interested. She just… sat there.

Kevin spent more time arguing with her than he did aiming for the goal, which hindered Nathalia’s ability to improve. She could always go through the Raven’s drills _(again),_ but what was the point? She could probably do them in her sleep. No, wait. There was no ‘probably’ to it. She’d been beat so many times her blood had probably seeped into the court floor by now. She probably _had_ done the drills while half asleep. She honestly couldn’t remember.

When she looked at Andrea, they made eye contact. Kevin was still going on a tangent about how Andrea needed to _get her act together_ and _do something before Riko steps in,_ but Andrea had eyes for Nathalia. 

It was still unsettling. She didn’t blink. Nathalia felt like she was holding the gaze of a rabid dog; one who was very much bark, bite, and challenge. She didn’t like it one bit. 

It eased a little when the blonde spoke in poorly-accented German. _“Do you speak German?”_

Nathalia offered a small nod of her head and a squint of her eyes. She had learned while on the run, forced to take in the foreign words by her mother’s harsh hands and the harsher thought of her father’s footsteps trailing behind her. Her accent was more natural, considering she’d lived in Germany for a bit of time. 

Still, she didn’t know what angle Andrea was playing at. She was a total wild card. The knives Nathalia was sure Andrea had under those arm bands were threatening, as was her stance and her gaze and her hair and her everything. She was a _threat,_ from head to toe. 

She was also very, very infuriating and confusing. She could see the potential dripping the other woman’s stance, in the way she carried herself, in the way she moved on court when she actually (rarely) applied effort. They would and _could_ win every single game without a problem if Andrea would cooperate.

She had a natural disposition to protect, to attack, to lash out, yet she wouldn’t put it to work. She didn’t listen to Kevin, she practically ignored Riko, and she pretended like Tetsuji didn’t exist. But she was here, speaking to Nathalia. She didn’t know how she felt, but she knew it was somewhere between _fine_ and _okay._

* * *

Andrea started smoking after practices. She’d wait until everyone was gone to light up. The only reason Nathalia even knew of it was because of the lingering scent of smoke and the fact that she’d taken too long getting changed one day.

It was like car rides taken with Mary, the window rolled down with trails of smoke leaking out. Nathalia would never admit it, but she could still feel the ghost of her mother’s hands gripping her hair, her shirt, her arm and guiding her through the mess she’d gotten herself into. She couldn’t hear her whispering, though. All she heard was the ringing of hastily made promises in her ears, promises that they both knew Nathalia wasn’t able to keep when she was deposited in the Nest. She was trying though, damnit. 

It was things like this that had her sticking around too long, like smoke in the air. Things that consisted of getting lost in old memories. The only difference between now and the other times was that Andrea caught her. She turned a too-knowing gaze onto Nathalia with too much ease. A raised eyebrow was all it took for the auburn-haired girl to know she’d been _seen._ “You smoke?”

She didn’t. She’d be killed before she could even consider smoking. She wanted to, though. She wanted to take one, two, three drags just to keep it burning; she couldn’t give less of a fuck about the nicotine. She wanted to let them burn down to the filter and for the scent of smoke to encircle her and smother her until all that was left was a better grasp of the memories of Mary Wesninski (no, Hatford). 

She said no, but she didn’t leave it at that. She said she wouldn’t mind a cigarette because She wouldn’t mind the opportunity to remind herself of her mother again, again, again, because she needed to remember why and how she lost her, and just where it got her. She couldn’t let go because she was running on pure spite and smoke.

Andrea passed her the burning, glowing stick and Nathalia forced herself to hold the blonde’s gaze as she took a single drag. One _single_ drag that had her holding in a cough and letting out a smoky exhale. That was all it took. She held it up next to her face and simply _breathed_ after that. 

Andrea called it wasteful, but Nathalia couldn’t say she cared.

* * *

Smoke breaks with Andrea became routine. Nathalia would risk her life (amongst other things) by lingering a little too long in the locker rooms to “chat” with Andrea, and Andrea would risk more simply by even bringing the cigarettes. 

Their meetups extended to nightly practice, despite Kevin’s irritation and yelling. It was the closest to a breath of “fresh air” that Nathalia would get. She wouldn’t give it away just because Kevin decided they would die of lung diseases before Nathalia got a chance to play in a _real_ match. 

Andrea always seemed to be able to come up with all the best ways to ignore Kevin’s antics. She’d mumble something particularly bitchy in german, Nathalia would smirk, and Kevin would eventually storm off to continue practicing. They’d ignore him for a bit before Nathalia would eventually cave and ditch Andrea for Exy. 

Eventually, as she offered Nathalia a cigarette, she also offered her a chance to play a game. Truth for a truth, she’d said. She had to be honest, yes, but she didn’t have to answer any question she didn’t want to. 

Nathalia accepted.

The questions were like Raven drills. There were no easy questions. The more questions asked, the harder they were to answer. Nathalia loved the thrill of it nonetheless. Besides, it wasn’t like she was the only one being asked random questions. 

Nathalia spewed her own just fine. She liked to think that after years of living in the Nest, of dealing with Riko’s childish fits of anger and torture, that she knew how to hold herself back. 

That thought vanished as soon as Andrea started pushing buttons and asking certain questions. She asked Nathalia about _why_ she was there and _how long_ she’d been there. The questions were easier to escape than the Nest, Nathalia had realized, so she didn’t bother trying. 

She told the truth… sort of.

* * *

One, two, three. Four, five, six. Seven, eight, nine. Ten. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Ten, nine, eight. Seven, six, five. Four, three, two. One. Repeat, repeat, repeat. French, Spanish, German, Ja- no. 

She stumbled as she was shoved against her locker by one of the other girls on the team. One of Riko’s lackeys, most likely. 

A raspy inhale. Was it hers? She didn’t know.

She pushed herself up and forced herself to open her locker, to shower, to change. She braced herself against the walls and paused only when her vision threatened to go out. 

Running water, a commotion, Riko’s loud, commanding voice. 

Run, escape, hide. Flee. Run, Nathalia, Run. One mistake--no, more. Riko, One. Kevin, Two. _Nathalia, Three. Three strikes._ Foul, Block, Check. Three strikes, number three. 

She was dizzy with adrenaline and anxiety of what was to come. She’d pushed too hard and gone too far and she wouldn’t know how badly she’d fucked up until Riko--there. 

Footsteps, fingers wrapping around her arm, drunken stumbling after them.

After fight, fight, fighting, here she was, being lead bleary-eyed and foggy-mindedly away from the lockers and down, down, down into the Nest. 

Down to Nathalia’s room, where Jean is, where everything is--wait, no, they passed it. Further down dimly-lit, black-painted halls and--Riko’s room. The room is bare, but familiar; it lacks a certain tall striker. 

Riko is there, waiting, as the one dragging Nathalia shoves her into the room. 

“Hello, number three,” is the last thing Nathalia allows herself to listen to before she exits her own body, avoiding the feeling of familiar knives and dangerous words.

* * *

Nathalia didn’t show up for the night practice that time.

* * *

“Why did you sign?” Nathalia asked Andrea one day--or was it night? Days had begin to blur together as the seasons changed and autumn gave way to winter. Anxiety was a dull thrum under her skin, and there were few ways to relieve it in the Nest. 

The media was always talking, chattering, and spreading rumors that the Ravens couldn’t afford to have buzzing around. It was bad this time. Stories of how Kevin Day might be the rightful King of Exy had been spread like wildfire around the Nest, reaching Riko’s ears.

Number one couldn’t handle being considered anything but the top, and to hear his ‘brother’ might be thought of as better? Nathalia was sick with the idea of what all could be happening. A match between brothers--a match between the Sons of Exy--could be nothing but brutal, especially if Kevin won. 

The Nest was silent at times like these.

“Is that your question?” Andrea asked, smoke billowing out from her mouth and curling around her words. Nathalia breathed it all in and gave a sharp nod. 

“It kept me off the meds,” Andrea replied smoothly. It was easy to connect the dots from there. She did suppose that Andrea still had control of her life in the Nest, minus… well, everything. Nathalia knew Andrea had a twin in Palmetto, along with a cousin. It was probably for the best they weren’t here. 

Aaliyah and Nicky would have suffered in the Nest if they were as different from Andrea as Nathalia thought. She simply nodded, and the conversation fell back into comfortable silence filled with smoky breaths and unspoken thoughts.

* * *

Riko won the competition between himself and Kevin, though his unhappiness rang out through the Nest in the form of shriveling cries and furious shouts. Nathalia didn’t have to wait long before she was dragged out of her room by the collar of her shirt and thrown into a room with Kevin himself. 

_“Clean this up, number three,”_ was all Riko had said before he disappeared in a stormcloud of rage. Andrea had shown up somewhere between Nathalia shutting down and her beginning to run on autopilot.

Together they somehow managed to clean up the blood and somewhat stabilize Kevin’s hand, despite the man’s heaving and panicking. 

Nathalia couldn’t think until she was being shoved into the passenger seat of a black Maserati with Kevin in the backseat. Andrea was forcing vodka down Kevin’s throat when Nathalia came to with a breathed out, “Jean.”

Her chest would cave in if they didn’t all escape. Three of them--Andrea, Kevin, Nathalia--escaping would only make Riko worse. They couldn’t--Nathalia couldn’t just--just _leave_ Jean there.

There was a pregnant pause before Andrea turned and returned to the Nest.

* * *

“My father,” Kevin choked out at the start of the drive. “Wymack--the foxes.”

Andrea gassed it and Kevin fell silent. Nathalia couldn’t tell if he’d passed out or not.

* * *

None of the foxes commented on the carefully guarded figure in the front row of the bus when they piled on. Aaliyah only cast a curious glance before turning her head and walking to the back.

* * *

“Riko’s going to kill us,” Nathalia said quietly on the bus ride to Palmetto, her hands shaking and her mind racing. Andrea was a steady presence next to her, taking the cold from her body and leaching it out. 

“I won’t let him,” she said, clutching the hem of Nathalia’s sweater tightly. It was a promise and a threat all at once, but it calmed Nathalia down immediately. She slumped over, exhaling. 

“Thank you.”

“Yes or no?” 

Nathalia glanced up, bright blue eyes meeting hazel with curiosity and a thousand other emotions that weren’t quite decipherable in the dark. “Yes.”

Andrea surged forward and for a moment, Nathalia forgot everything but how Andrea’s lips tasted.

**Author's Note:**

> muah! i hope u liked it (and again if theres anything i forgot to tag, please please please let me know!)


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